


Waiting For Love

by zombiekittiez



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Art Student Keith, Christmas fic, Getting Together, Hallmark Movie, M/M, Modern AU, Sheithmark 2021, Snow, keith pov, meet cute, niche occupations, shoemaker shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiekittiez/pseuds/zombiekittiez
Summary: Reindeer guy is right there, peering down at him, eyebrows scrunched in concern. Up close Keith can see the sharp jawline and a scar that just crests a perfect nose- oh god, he’s cheeryandhot.“And here I thought I was Rudolph,” the man says with a sudden bright smile.Keith stares.The smile falters. “Because… your nose is red. Ah, it’s cold out?” Reindeer guy tries.“Yeah,” Keith says slowly, taking pity on him. “It’s cold.”~~Keith thinks Christmas is just a time for holiday pay until Shiro makes it his mission to show Keith tis the season for family and love. Sheithmark 2021!
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 118
Collections: Sheithmark 2021





	Waiting For Love

**Author's Note:**

> Sheithmark Bingo: 
> 
> Incredible niche occupation  
> True love  
> Arts and crafts as part of the plot  
> Deadlines  
> Unexpected weather events

Shout out to [leftishark](https://twitter.com/leftishark_) for the amazing illustration!!

~~

It’s Christmas Eve and Keith is miserable.

He stamps his feet in place to try and keep them from freezing, frowning when his second toe catches in the tiny hole at the top of his sock. His beanie is pulled down over his ears, scarf wrapped around his neck twice, an ineffective red woolen barrier against the creeping cold. Even through the layers of his second hand leather jacket and hoodie his elbows are going numb. Somehow, despite the annoying press of bodies ahead and behind, there is nowhere to shelter against the icy blast of the wind. Better yet, the clouds above seem to be threatening to dump a new fresh sugar dusting of the white stuff on them all. And he’s still got six hours to go.

All of this is tolerable, Keith’s had worse and a hell of a lot worse Christmases- except for the fact that he also has to piss like a racehorse.

At his hip, his phone gives a monotonous factory ring. Keith doesn’t bother glancing at the screen when he answers.

“Merry Christmas, you blood traitor.”

Pidge snorts on the other line. “Tell me how you really feel, why doncha?”

“I’d love to, ‘cept I can’t feel _anything._ ” Keith answers pleasantly. He’s getting a few dirty looks from other people in line but fuck ‘em, honestly. “Pretty sure I’ve lost at least four toes by now.”

“Poor baby,” Pidge says without even an ounce of sincerity. “I told you to beg off. Iverson’s crazy trying to get anybody to work a Christmas launch.”

“Can’t. After I overslept post-finals for the TS5 launch he said if I flake out on another assignment my ass is grass. And I could use the money anyway.” Keith shrugs.

“That’s such shit,” Pidge growls.

“What can you do?” Keith says lightly, glancing down the line disinterestedly. Something bright and flashing catches his attention. “Life sucks and then you die.”

“My favorite line from Tiny Tim, that.” Pidge agrees dryly. “I take it you won’t be making it to Christmas Dinner again, then? We go pretty late...”

“Nah. I’m here till the ExFone 4.8 drops at midnight, at least, and then I’m just going to head home. Thanks, though. Maybe next year.” The flashing brightness is darting up the line, obscured by bodies wrapped in fluffy coats. Even though Keith can’t see just what’s happening yet, he does notice that in its wake people seem… happier. Smiling a little, more relaxed.

“You say that every year.” Pidge reminds him.

Then Keith sees it. “Hey, Pigeon, I gotta go. Have a good Christmas, okay? Tell the fam I said hi.”

“Fine. Don’t freeze, loser.” Pidge hangs up and Keith is able to turn his full attention down the line.

The man is huge, well over six foot and broad and tapered in the best way, with a grin nearly as big all on its own. He’s also _glowing._ Perched on his fluffy forelock is a headband with large curving reindeer antlers strung with working white, red, and green lights over a pair of fluffy red and white earmuffs swirled to look like peppermint candies. He’s wearing a nicely fitted back coat over weatherproof pants and serviceable boots, but overtop of all that is a chintzy felt Santa suit, open and flapping rather pathetically in the wind. Keith supposes it’s a hard look to pull off without the associated cookie belly. At second glance, he seems younger than the white hair would imply.

Keith watches, bemused, as the man moves along at a steady pace, handing out- something? from the oversized wicker Christmas basket slung over one arm. The old geezer who had stepped on the back of Keith’s heel three times in the past hour out of sheer meanness is beaming at the newcomer like Scrooge reborn. Keith scowls, turning resolutely away. Whatever the hell this guy wants, he’s not buying.

Keith can tell when the guy pauses beside him before moving along to the handful of people ahead. Between the needling cold and the pressing need of his bladder, he’s so mired in wretchedness that his guard drops. When someone politely clears their throat a few minutes later directly to his left, he turns to look.

Reindeer guy is right there, peering down at him, eyebrows scrunched in concern. Up close Keith can see the sharp jawline and a scar that just crests a perfect nose- oh god, he’s cheery _and_ hot.

“And here I thought I was Rudolph,” the man says with a sudden bright smile.

Keith stares.

The smile falters. “Because… your nose is red. Ah, it’s cold out?” Reindeer guy tries.

“Yeah,” Keith says slowly, taking pity on him. “It’s cold.”

“Here!” Reindeer guy thrusts the basket toward Keith. He glances down disinterestedly at first but then leans in close for a second look.

“Are these… handwarmers?” Keith asks. The man nods with a jingling of bells and flashing bulbs. “That’s a good idea,” Keith admits begrudgingly. “How many will twenty bucks get me?” Maybe he can wedge a couple into the toe box of his shoes.

“Oh, no. I’m not selling them. They’re free.” Reindeer guy sounds genuinely shocked.

“Free,” Keith repeats dubiously.

“Everyone else got some already… and you look really cold. You can take the rest of them, seriously.” He looks entirely too earnest. Keith gingerly reaches into the basket, grateful for the excuse to look away from those intent grey eyes. Keith scoops up two of the remaining packs, cracking one to activate the chemical warmth and shoving it into his pocket immediately. The other he examines closely. There’s print on the outside.

“Shirogane’s Shoes,” Keith reads aloud.

“That’s me,” Reindeer guy Shirogane says brightly.

“Advertisement via handwarmer. That’s pretty clever.” Keith acknowledges.

“Go on,” Shirogane waves the basket appealingly. “Take more.”

“Uh. Okay. If you’re sure, then… thanks.” Keith scoops up a few more, shoving them into his pockets greedily. He flexes his fingers inside the luxuriously radiant warmth with a little sigh. It’s almost enough to distract from his other problems.

Keith glances up and notes with some surprise that Shirogane is still standing there with his empty basket. They look at each other for a long moment.

“Can I help you?” Keith asks. Maybe it’s rude, saying it like that, but the guy doesn’t seem bothered. He blinks, slow and thoughtful.

“I think… more like, can I help you?” Keith’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “I just mean you seem really unhappy. And it’s Christmas Eve.” Shirogane hurries to explain.

Normally Keith would tell somebody asking questions like that right where they could shove it. If it’s somebody he likes okay he might play it off, say that’s just his face, unfortunately.

But he really is kind of unhappy. And it _is_ Christmas Eve.

“I gotta pee,” Keith confesses.

“Oh,” Shirogane says, taken aback. “You can’t just…”

“I can’t get out of line,” Keith explains. “I’m here for the midnight release and I’ll lose my spot.”

“Oh!” Shirogane glances up and down the line again. Most people are in pairs, some even in groups of three or four. Keith is the only one hunched in on his lonesome. “Well… I’ll hold your spot then.”

Keith blinks, surprised.

“That’s alright, isn’t it, Mr. Parker?” Shiro addresses the sour faced old guy behind Keith who nods enthusiastically- like he wouldn’t have had Keith’s guts for garters for daring to step out of line literally ten minutes ago. Whatever, gift horses and mouths.

“Are you for real?” Keith asks Shirogane, just to be sure. Christmas cheer aside, the guy is built like a pro-wrestler and he seriously doubts anyone would bother challenging a guy that size over a quick switcheroo. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would lie just for kicks. Besides, now Keith knows where to find him if he does.

“The realest,” Shirogane says solemnly.

Keith books it.

Soon Keith is making his way back up the line, steps almost jaunty. Between the much needed pit stop and the opportunity to shove two of the handwarmers down into his holey socks, he feels like a new man. Shirogane leans out of the line to wave to him and Keith picks up speed- it’s Christmas Eve, this guy clearly has somewhere to be. No way someone as good looking and good hearted doesn’t have a wife or something waiting with the proverbial bells on.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Keith says, sliding back into place. He grins full force at Shirogane who freezes a little under the attention.

“Oh, I, no- that is, er…” he stumbles. Damn, the cold must be getting to him. Keith can spare a little Christmas spirit. Good karma and all. He digs into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled bill.

“I don’t have a lot of money,” Keith admits frankly. “But I want you to have this.” Keith drops the crumpled twenty into Shirogane’s empty basket.

“What? No! I don’t want to take your money,” Shirogane protests.

“Merry Christmas,” Keith says, smiling again. Keith’s sure he’s never seen someone that attractive and sweet _and_ cute to boot. The whole package, right there. Shirogane trails off. “Get yourself something warm to drink,” Keith advises. “The cocoa cart’s been going around.”

“Is it good?” Shirogane asks, voice a bit faint.

“Isn’t all cocoa?” Keith asks whimsically.

“Yeah.” Shirogane agrees. “Uh… I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Keith,” Keith says.

“Right. Keith. Thanks.” With a determined air, Shirogane turns on his heel and disappears back toward the end of the line where the cheery woman pushes the cocoa cart, dispensing sugary cheer at the cutthroat price of nine ninety-five a serving before tax. He hadn’t been able to justify the expense when he’d been down to his last emergency twenty bucks- but what the hell. It’s Christmas, and a stand up guy like Shirogane deserves it. Besides, after midnight, Keith will be set for a little while- and back at home, he’s got ramen for days.

Keith’s still mulling over his options for the future, torn between the extra spicy chicken and salty miso when he sees a familiar figure approaching.

“Hey you,” Keith says, glad to see him again. “Forget something?”

Shirogane ducks his head a little, giving Keith a pleased smile. Wordlessly, Shirogane holds out one of the two steaming to-go cups he’s cradling. Surprised, Keith takes it. He notices _Keith_ is written on the red cardboard sleeve.

“For me?” Keith asks. There’s a little bag in the crook of the man’s elbow, and he lowers his arm so that it slides into his hand. Inside are two little styrofoam dessert containers.

“Miss Myrtle’s Turtle Brownies,” Shirogane explains.

“That twenty bucks was for you,” Keith protests.

“And I accepted it, thank you. But this kind of thing is better shared, don’t you think?” Shirogane asks, smiling cheekily.

“You got all this for twenty bucks?” Keith asks, grudgingly taking one of the brownie containers. It _does_ look amazing, and that future ramen is a long way off still.

“Employee discount.” Shirogane shrugs. “My store’s right on the other side of the gazebo.”

“Shirogane’s Shoes,” Keith recalls.

“Yeah.” Shirogane looks like he wants to say something else, but then his phone merrily rings to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock. “Damn. Ah-” He looks at Keith and then down at his hip.

“Thanks for the drink,” Keith says, stepping back into line.

Shirogane hesitates. The phone blares again.

“Merry Christmas,” Keith adds.

“Yeah.” Shirogane’s shoulders seem to slump a little as he picks up the phone. “Matt… Yeah, tell your parents I'll be leaving soon. I just have a few things left to do before I head over…”

Struck with sudden genius, Keith carefully peels back the cardboard sleeve- it will be an even better hand warmer with just the hot cup against his thin gloves. Underneath the corrugated paper, something green sticks out. Curiously, Keith tugs with two fingers until it comes free.

It’s his emergency twenty, neatly folded and tucked against the cup.

Keith looks up, but Shirogane is gone.

The flush on his cheeks is just from the wind. Probably.

...that Matt guy sure is lucky.

And the cocoa/brownie combo is excellent.

~~

The clouds which had been leering a vaguely worded threat above have turned explicitly ominous by the time Keith drains the dregs of his now lukewarm chocolate.

His phone gives a chirrup and he glances down.

Weather Advisory. Just great.

The change is slow. Over the next hour, as the wind picks up and the snowflakes dancing in the air slide from a ballet into a samba, the line thins. Instead of wrapping around the building, it just disappears around the corner. Instead of disappearing around the corner, it trails off under awnings and pressed against store fronts. Keith is so scrunched into his hood that he can’t see much except for the bright green puffy jacket of the soccer mom n’ dad pair in front of him. Then, between one moment and the next, that also disappears.

He blinks uncertainly. Has the snow fall really gotten so bad that he can’t see a few feet in front of him?

Distantly, he thinks he can hear someone calling his name.

“Keith!” The voice repeats, right against his ear. There’s a hand at his elbow. Hey, he knows this guy.

“Oh,” Keith says. “Shirogane.”

The man isn’t decked out in Reindeer gear this time- his coat is a little askew, like he’d put it on in a hurry, and he isn’t wearing ear muffs.

“What are you still doing out here?” Shirogane is much too close- but then, it’s fairly windy. His ears are already reddening. Keith reaches up automatically like he used to do for the littles in the group homes, cupping his gloved hands around the back of Shirogane’s ears, blocking them from the cold.

“What- oh.” Shirogane’s face goes an even deeper red.

“You should go inside,” Keith tells him seriously. “It’s cold out.”

Shirogane lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “I- Keith, there’s a snowstorm. You need to take shelter.”

“I have to stay in line,” Keith explains. It takes him two tries to say it clearly. The wind is loud- or maybe it is just that his mouth is a bit numb.

“Keith, look around, okay?” Shirogane directs him. Keith complies.

“...Oh.” The storefront is empty. “When… it’s just me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, baby. It’s just you.” Shirogane says absently, glancing up at the clouds. “The wind is strong- the storm will probably die down in a couple of hours… but you need to be inside until then.”

“I can’t leave,” Keith insists. “I won’t know when they open back up and I need to be in line.”

Shirogane huffs a little breath. “Okay, what about- look, see there?” He spins Keith a little and points out in front. The storefront is brightly lit but the words are hard to make out in the heavy snowfall.

“Shirogane’s Shoes.” Keith reads for the second time that night. “That’s you.”

“Sure is,” Shirogane agrees with a brief smile. “And it’s Shiro, okay? So we’re gonna go back to my store and you can sit right there and look out where it’s warm and see the minute people start lining back up.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asks. “Aren’t you going home?”

“Not in this, I’m not.” Shiro says firmly. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t leave you out here. Now let’s go.” He grabs Keith’s hand and pulls him toward the light.

~~

The door jingles merrily as Shiro wrestles it closed behind them, turning the lock to keep the wind from rattling it in the frame. Delicious warmth envelopes Keith like a welcoming hug. He sighs, long and drawn out.

“Better?” Shiro asks, unbuttoning his coat, revealing a sharp pair of slacks and dress shirt, artfully unbuttoned at top, dark vest nipping in at the waist.

“So much,” Keith agrees fervently. “You really do have a good view of the store. This is perfect.” He sinks gingerly onto a little padded bench near the door, looking out into the muzzy white of the outdoors through the glass storefront, embossed with _Shirogane’s Shoes._ The room is lovely, comforting and classy, dark wood contrasting nicely with the beige and gold color scheme. There is even, Keith notes, a chandelier.

“I can’t believe how long you were out there. I thought I was hallucinating.” Shiro shakes his head. “Here, give me your stuff and I’ll dry it out.”

He lays both of their coats across another bench in front of a portable heater, adjusting it a reasonable distance from the fabric. Then he pulls out a strange contraption with several short stubby arms radiating up from the base- some sort of electric shoe warmer, Keith guesses. Some are occupied; Shiro exchanges his damp boots for dry ones before bringing a pair of fuzzy slippers over to where Keith sits.

“May I?” Shiro asks politely, kneeling beside him. Keith can get his own boots off, okay? If he had a minute or two to thaw enough to bend down all the way. But it’s probably second nature, for a guy who owns a shoe store.

“Be my guest.”

Shiro carefully unlaces and tugs free each boot, replacing it with a slipper fresh from the warmer. “You must really be looking forward to it.”

“Mm?” Keith wriggles his toes in pleasure.

“The new ExPhone.”

“What? Oh! No, that’s not for me.” Keith snorts.

“Ah. For a girlfriend then?” Shiro asks, turning to put Keith’s boots on the warmer to dry. They are noticeably shabbier than Shiro’s to the left. Actually, the slippers are high quality too- soft treated suede and lined with soft faux fur. Probably the most expensive thing he’s ever worn, this pair of custom fuzzy slippers.

Keith snorts again, a bit more emphatically. “A pretty ritzy gift for somebody who doesn’t exist. No, it’s for work.”

Shiro’s brows scrunch. “Like… resale?”

“Not exactly,” Keith explains. “I’m a professional queuer.”

“A professional… what?” Shiro looks lost.

“Queuer. Like standing in a queue? I get paid to hold somebody’s spot in line. Then, close to launch, we swap out and I get paid.”

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Shiro admits, dropping onto a bench near enough to Keith that he can smell his cologne- something rich and expensive that blends perfectly with the cured leather and spice of the shoe shop. Jeez, Shiro even _smells_ out of Keith’s league.

“It’s pretty easy- everything comes in through email and phone and for a big launch on a holiday, the pay is pretty good. I’m kind of counting on it to get me through the rest of Winter Break till school’s back in.”

“You’re a college student?” Shiro asks with interest.

“As much as an art major can be. It’s my final year, though.” Keith shrugs. “Did you go to school for all this?” He changes the subject quickly.

“Well… yes and no. Shoe crafting is the family business, so I had an apprenticeship under my grandfather growing up. I did take a break there for a while to get my Bachelors in Marketing and an MBA though.”

“Some break,” Keith says, disbelieving.

Shiro laughs. “I just wanted this place to do well. It wasn’t looking so good for a while there and my grandfather encouraged my mom to go into something a little more stable. That's how she met my dad, actually- they're both accountants. Everyone thought he’d retire and that would be the end of Shirogane’s Shoes, but I always loved it here. I had to really make my case for them to take over.”

“It’s really nice,” Keith says softly. And it’s true- the shelving is a dark stained wood with iron accents, charmingly antique. The shoes themselves are classy and sleek, and at a glance cost more than the leftover from Keith’s Pell Grant stipend check at the beginning of each semester. Hurriedly he puts the lovely dark blue oxford he’d been idly examining back on the shelf.

“Thanks.” Shiro grins. “Made ‘em myself.”

“All of them?” Keith asks, surprised. He glances around the shop, which is tastefully arranged around a wide variety of high class shoes- derbys, loafers, dress boots.

“Everything currently on display.” Shiro puffs up a little. “Do you like them?”

“They’re beautiful. Like wearable art.” Keith says sincerely. “Business is good?”

“Can’t complain,” Shiro says, in the way that successful people do. It’s a tad less insufferable when coming from him, though. Shiro’s pocket begins blaring Jingle Bell Rock. “Damn. One sec-”

Keith waves him off.

“Hey- No, yeah. Matt, I’ve seen. What’s it like there? Uh huh. Well, I’ve got snow tires and all, but it won’t be safe to travel till the storm blows over. … Hopefully just a few hours but I don’t know for sure. Did my parents make it there okay? Mom hasn’t answered her text… Oh, that’s probably for the best. Signal’s probably out because of the storm, I’ll try again in a few. Yeah. … Yeah, I figured I wasn’t the only one who got caught by the weather. I’ll keep you posted. We’re safe at the shop.” Shiro glances at Keith, then turns a little away, lowering his voice.

“I’ll tell you later. _Later,_ I said. It’s- it’s nothing, not a big deal. Just… someone. We’re sitting out the storm. Don’t be like that! I’ll call you later, okay? Bye.” Shiro hangs up, turning back to Keith with an apologetic grin.

“Everything okay?” Keith asks, offhand. It’s pretty laughable, honestly. If this Matt guy could see Keith in his thrift store best, hair damp and bedraggled in Shiro’s natural habitat he’d know there could be absolutely zero competition.

“Yeah, sorry. He’s just… nosy.” Shiro plays off, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. Now that Shiro’s gloves are off, Keith notices that one of his arms seems to be a prosthetic. If anything, that makes the fine detail on the leatherwork even more impressive.

“I’m sure he’s just worried,” Keith says kindly. “It’s hard to be away from the people you love during Christmas. Or so I hear.”

“Love?” Shiro’s face flushes. “Well- I don’t… that is, I _do_ love Matt, but-”

Keith watches him flounder, bemused. Does Shiro have commitment issues? Well, nobody’s perfect.

“You can tell him when the time is right,” Keith says feeling very wise and sincere. Relationships seem so messy. Probably for the best that Keith hasn’t had much interest before.

“He’s straight,” Shiro blurts. “And we’re not… together. We’re just friends… Our parents are close, too. He’s like an annoying cousin. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Keith blinks.

“I don’t have anyone like that.” Shiro emphasizes.

“Oh.” Keith says again. “Sorry for making assumptions.”

“It’s fine. I, uh. I did too. About the girlfriend.” Shiro reminds him awkwardly.

“Right.” Keith agrees. “That I don’t have. But, uh. It wouldn’t be a girlfriend, if I did.” He adds, feeling foolish. There is no way that somebody like Shiro is hinting at anything, but, well. He’s very pretty. It wouldn’t kill Keith to keep a little hope alive.

“Oh,” Shiro says this time. There’s a little pause.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Keith agrees, fighting a blush.

“You don’t have to tell me, but… do you not like Christmas?”

Keith bites his lower lip. “I don’t really have family I’m close to,” he says slowly. “And I’ve had to work a lot. Christmas has always been just another chance to make a little holiday pay, you know? Like Thanksgiving.”

“So you don’t hate it,” Shiro clarifies.

“I just don’t really… do Christmas,” Keith explains. “I don’t feel one way or the other, I think.”

“Could I try and change your mind?” Shiro asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Shiro stands up. “I don’t know if you could tell from earlier, but I _love_ Christmas.”

“No way,” Keith deadpans.

“And I’m not going to let something like a silly little snowstorm keep me from Christmas. What do you say, are you in?” Shiro grins charmingly.

Keith glances outside. The falling snow is a curtain, shutting them away from the rest of the world. “Seems like you’ve got a captive audience. I’m all yours… for the next couple of hours, anyway.”

~~

The first thing that Shiro does is crank up the store’s audio system, cued to blare obnoxiously cheerful Christmas pop covers. Bopping along to Mariah Carey, Shiro grabs Keith by the wrist and pulls him into the back room through slatted swinging doors. On the long workbench, Shiro sweeps his current projects to the side.

“Components to a perfect Christmas,” Shiro dictates, and Keith dutifully makes a list. “Decor, Dinner, Gifts, and most importantly: Heart.”

Keith pretends to frown while he looks over the list. “Can we really find all of these here?”

“It’s Christmas, Keith.” Shiro says seriously, and they’re off.

For the holiday season, Shirogane’s Shoes has invested in heavy duty red and green and white paper bags. Shiro painstakingly cuts out paper chains, stapling each piece with precision until they coil at his feet. Keith smoothes out the long flat sides of the bags, folding them and snipping delicately until they unfold into lacey snowflakes. They pile up their homespun decorations and then dig for more… creative solutions; Shiro even drapes his own obnoxious reindeer antlers across a pair of particularly fine wingtip shoes by the window.

“Shoe tree,” Keith reads off a box tucked beneath the register.

“See?” Shiro opens it up to reveal the wooden shape of a foot. “To keep the shape inside your shoe.”

“Hm… you have more of these?” Keith asks with a thoughtful look.

“A whole pallet in the back. Go nuts.”

A few hours later and the space is wholly transformed. Where before Shirogane’s Shoes was a stately and expensive looking boutique, now it is a riot of paper snowflakes strung up with shoelaces, red and green paper chains draped along the walls and chandelier, corner to corner. In the center of it all is Keith’s masterpiece: shoe trees laid and stacked to form the shape of a Christmas tree, gently draped with the finest of their handcraft wares. The end result looks rather like an elementary school Holiday pageant exploded inside the store, and Shiro could not be happier. He’s flushed and beaming.

“What do you think?” Keith asks cautiously. It’ll be a real pain to clean up later. There’s paper bits and scotch tape everywhere.

Wordlessly, Shiro holds up a hand, not putting it down until Keith gives in and high-fives him.

“You’re a dork,” Keith notes, delighted.

“Takes one to know one,” Shiro replies. “Now it’s time for me to scavenge the wastes for Christmas Dinner.”

“You’re not going out there,” Keith protests. Outside the window, the world is still lost to a hazy screen of white, a curtain of cold that leaves them in their own perfect temporary place in time.

“Oh, no. Not those wastes. The employee fridge in back. I don’t think it’s been cleaned since Halloween, so… wish me luck.” Shiro explains, heading into the back with the air of a man going off to war.

Keith salutes him. “Godspeed.”

Shiro disappears into the back.

Keith settles back onto his bench, smiling. This is the most fun he can remember having on a Christmas in… well, too long, maybe. His eyes fall upon their list from earlier, made halfway in jest.

...Gifts.

Without much time to spare, Keith digs in his hoodie pocket until he finds what he’s looking for, then sets to work.

~~

“I have returned from the hunt victorious,” Shiro announces grandly some time later.

Keith follows him back to see the worktable laid out for a feast, complete with paper plates and plastic knives.

“Just knives?” Keith asks, amused.

“I guess I used all the forks and spoons,” Shiro shrugs.

The incredible spread includes the following: a single toasted bagel without butter, jam, or cream cheese, half a jar of honey roasted peanuts, an unopened can of tuna, two cups of hot black coffee and a package of dry ramen.

“Ta dah,” Shiro says weakly.

Keith picks up the can of tuna. It isn’t the pull-top kind. He can tell by Shiro’s sheepish smile that there is no can opener.

Okay. He’s got this. Keith sets the coffee pot to heat plain water in the meantime.

“Don’t freak out,” Keith instructs firmly, then he leans down to retrieve his boot knife. He sticks the knife into the lid, smoothly rotating his wrist until the top pops free.

Keith then opens the employee fridge, glancing around until he sees the half-open jar of mayo that seems to perpetually live in communal fridges. After a quick sniff test, he mixes a dollop straight into the can with a sprinkling of the ramen seasoning. He splits the mixture between the two bagel halves.

The hot water is ready so Keith pours some into the plastic packaging until the noodles are soft. Then he drains the water before tossing them with the seasoning. There’s even a little hot sauce behind the mayo he adds in.

“Tonight’s special is a seafood croute with picante pasta and a sweet nut course to follow.” Keith slides Shiro a plate with a little flourish.

“Wha… how?” Shiro looks shocked and impressed. Keith winks and sips his coffee.

“You’re a man of many talents,” Shiro says, shaking his head as he bites into his bagel. “You made all this actually edible.”

“When you don’t grow up with a lot of money, you learn to make do.” Keith shrugs. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro murmurs.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” Keith says quickly. “It’s sort of a buzzkill. I’ll stop talking about it.”

“I don’t mind hearing it,” Shiro corrects him. “I think everything about you is…”

“Is?” Keith prompts with trepidation.

“Interesting. You’re really interesting and I like hearing what you have to say.”

Well that’s a new one. Keith takes a big bite of bagel to compose himself.

“I’m not that interesting,” he assures Shiro. “But I don’t mind telling you. I grew up in the foster system. There were some good holidays and some bad holidays. I’m sure you can guess the good ones weren’t all that great and the bad ones were pretty dismal.”

“It’s a hard time to be without family,” Shiro says gently.

“My dad died when I was eight. I got by okay until I aged out. Then last year, my mom hits me up out of nowhere. She has her reasons for not being around, and I get it, but it got… complicated. She’s not pushing it, but she wants to do the whole mom thing- holidays and helping me out with money. I guess that’s normal, but...”

“It might not be your normal,” Shiro points out. “It’s okay to not know what you want just yet.”

“I guess it’s stupid to almost freeze to death waiting for somebody else’s ExPhone just cause I don’t know how to face my mom yet.” Keith shrugs again.

“I think you’ve spent a long time getting by on your own. I’m glad you’ve got someone now, whatever that means for you.” Shiro smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah?” Keith fiddles with his coffee, flustered. Shiro picks up the trash and clears the table; when he returns, there is a small flat package wrapped in a little of the gift paper Keith found under the register. The lines are clumsy but Shiro looks arrested all the same.

“What’s this?” Shiro asks with a grin.

“A present,” Keith says triumphantly.

“A present?” Shiro looks genuinely surprised. “What is it?”

“Isn’t that the point of the thing? Not to know?” Keith asks, amused.

“I have one for you too, actually.” Shiro fetches a small hastily wrapped package from the silverware drawer. “You go first.”

Keith opens it, then laughs.

“Not a terribly romantic gift, but yours have _holes,_ Keith.” Shiro protests.

“No, I love them.” Keith says solemnly, holding the pair of new woolen green and red checked socks to his chest.

“My turn.” Shiro unwraps it carefully.

“It’s just a quick one,” Keith warns. “Don’t expect too much.”

Shiro holds up the minute sketch from the pocket pad that Keith always carries. He’d hoped to use it standing in line to kill time but his bad mood and the extreme weather had dissuaded him. Keith’s glad he’s gotten the chance to use it, if only for this. The picture itself is not much to look at; it’s mostly a brief impression, a strong jaw and dark laughing eyes under a sketch of pale falling hair.

“Wow.” Shiro’s eyes are dazzling. “You’re so good.”

“No way.” Keith’s ears burn red. “You’d need to sit for a good one.”

“Is that an offer?” Shiro asks, reaching out with a warm hand over Keith’s wrist where his pulse fairly jumps under the touch.

“Anytime,” Keith croaks.

They end up stretched across the floor, laying on a pile of plush cloth Shiro uses for the window displays. Warm and satiated, they talk in low voices, about growing up and family and Christmas. There’s a slight warmth in the scant inches between them, curled under the shoe tree tree. Between one blink and the next, Keith drifts off.

When Keith wakes, the first thing that strikes him is the quiet. The sound system must have cut off automatically. There is a slight noise- rhythmic, almost, and Keith can almost feel it. He’d fallen asleep with Shiro-

Shiro. Shiro who is cuddled close, breathing in and out, the rise and fall of his chest under Keith’s cheek.

Oh god.

Keith pushes himself up a little, looking down at the sleeping man. He’s even better looking in the morning light.

The morning light.

_Oh god._

Keith scrambles to his feet. “No no no,” Keith whispers frantically to himself.

“Mm? Keith?” Shiro stirs.

Keith stares out the front window miserably.

It’s quiet because the storm has stopped. The morning light glitters beautifully off the freshly fallen snow- and on the line wrapped around the building. He watches in horror as the front door is unlocked and the long throng of people begin filing in.

One person is briskly moving up and down the line, looking for something or _someone._ The woman turns away from the moving line and her eyes fall on Keith through the store front windows from the other side of the clearing.

“Oh god,” Keith whispers miserably as Ellen Sanda marches over to the shop. Part of him wants to just leave the door locked, to run back and hide in the employee bathroom until it’s all over.

Blearily, Shiro gets to his feet. “Oh, do you know her, Keith?” He asks, too sleepy to recognize Keith’s distress. He unlocks the door and Sanda bursts in, Vivenne Westwood peacoat swirling in the sudden wind like some kind of Disney villain.

“What is this?” Sanda snaps. “Did you get the stores confused? Could you not _read_ the directions that I sent in plain English?”

“Miss Sanda-” Keith tries, mortified. He glances helplessly at Shiro who is rooted to the spot, hand still on the open door. Several people in the line shuffling pass turn curious eyes their way, drawn by her shrill piercing voice.

“Do you have an excuse as to why I paid $700 to secure my place in line and find you…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, but what she thinks of Keith’s mussed hair and the bedding on the floor is clear from her wrinkled nose.

“Let me explain. There was a weather advisory and-” Keith tries but she cuts him off with a wave of her obnoxiously colored knit poncho.

“I’ve seen more than enough. I told your boss you were a poor choice to begin with. Iverson, I said, I know beggars can’t be choosers with a last minute request but mark my words that Kogane is going to screw up. Weather advisory? It was a little snow! You couldn’t put up with a little cold weather? God help you when you need to find a real job.” With a sniff, Sanda fishes her phone, the Exphone 4.6, out of her Kate Spade bag and presses a button, flipping the screen so that Keith can see her call history. “Which should be any minute now,” she says with evident enjoyment as he sees where she’s called his boss a scant five minutes before. “I’ve already reported your job as a failure.”

Keith’s phone rings.

“Merry Christmas,” Sanda says viciously, sailing out of the door that Shiro still holds open.

Keith glances at Shiro, then away just as quickly. He’s never been so humiliated- and she’s right, Keith should have just _stayed there-_

“Keith,” Shiro says. Keith can’t bear to meet his eyes so he answers the phone instead. Iverson’s shout picks up immediately, dressing Keith down without even a pause for breath. Keith winces but holds it to his ear, letting the wave of disapproval wash over him.

Shiro looks so lost, his mouth twisted unhappily. He just looks so _nice,_ even sleep rumpled in his nice clothes and with his kindly eyes. Keith can see this thing that felt so big just a few hours before for what it really is- a moment of madness in a late night snow storm. There’s nothing Keith could offer somebody like Shiro, he can see that as clear as the morning light filtering in through the window. Those cheap decorations draped all over a classy crystal cut chandelier are going straight into the trash. The shop’s a wreck and Keith is a fool.

Keith shoves back on his dry holey socks and his boots, wrapping haphazardly in his coat and scarf, still glued to his phone.

“No, I understand. I’m sorry. It was- I just stepped away to warm up and-”

Another wave of vitriol and Keith resigns himself to it, shutting his mouth firmly. Nobody cares about his reasons. If he wants to keep this job, he needs to endure. Keith steps out into the cold without a backwards glance.

This time, Shiro closes the door behind him.

~~

Keith gets home and throws himself into a hot shower. He can’t bring himself to make the ramen in his cabinet, and without the money from the ExPhone job, he’ll need to make that last anyway. Keith spends much of Christmas Day trawling the help wanted ads on Craigslist when his phone rings again in the afternoon.

“Hello?” Keith says cautiously.

“Perhaps I was too hasty,” Iverson says, clearing his throat. “In the spirit of the holidays, I could be persuaded to give you one last chance.”

“Yeah?” Keith sits up straight. “I mean, yes, sir?”

“Last minute job. Can you get back out to that shopping center in an hour?”

Keith scrambles for his shoes. He’ll have to leave in the next five minutes if he wants to catch the bus on the holiday schedule. “Yes! I’ll be there. What’s the job?”

“Just get there.” Iverson snaps and hangs up. It could be anything- heavy lifting, shoveling snow. Whatever it is, Keith doesn’t care.

Halfway down the stairs, his phone rings again. Krolia’s contact information lights up the screen. Keith hesitates, then presses ignore. She never signed up for this. Keith can take care of himself.

By the time Keith steps off the bus into the cold, the sky is starting to grow dark- blues and oranges, in the way that snowy sunsets can be. It’s empty, the store fronts dark and the only light coming from the Christmas decorations in the still evening.

Silhouetted against the night, one figure stands waiting, hands in his pockets. A familiar figure.

“Shiro?” Keith asks, confused.

“Hi.” Shiro hesitates.

“I don’t understand,” Keith says, approaching him. Behind him, the bus moves away.

“It’s me,” Shiro says. “I hired you, I mean.”

“Now I _really_ don’t understand.”

Shiro sighs. “I know Iverson. I- That’s not important.” He frowns, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have let her talk to you like that this morning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was my fault you missed your job. And then everyone was so awful to you about it. I know you probably don’t want to see me again, but… I had to try.”

“Shiro, please.” Keith swallows his embarrassment and steps closer. Shiro’s eyes brighten. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I hired you for Christmas,” Shiro says simply. “I’ll pay you and make things up with Iverson for you. Come to this Christmas party- they’ve just put it off from yesterday because of the weather. The Holts are really nice-”

“The Holts?” Keith interrupts. “Like… Pidge Holt?”

“Hm? You know Katie?” Shiro tilts his head to the side adorably. “I’ve been friends with her brother since high school.”

“She always asks me but…” Keith just shakes his head, overwhelmed.

“Come with me,” Shiro asks.

“You really want me to?” Keith asks shyly. “With your parents and… everyone?”

“So much,” Shiro promises. “Is that too much?”

And Keith can picture it- a real Christmas dinner, warm and filling and rich. Party games and music, people who want to talk to him and know what he thinks. People who care about his feelings and his happiness… what it might be like to have a family. Sitting next to Shiro and soaking in all that warmth and attention, while Shiro looks at him like… like Shiro’s looking at him right now.

And then Keith knows exactly what to do. Calmly, he pulls out his phone, pressing a few buttons and holding it up to his ear. It rings twice as Shiro watches him curiously.

“This better be good,” Iverson growls. “It’s Christmas, Kogane.”

“I quit,” Keith says serenely, then hangs up. He turns off his phone.

“Why would you do that?” Shiro asks, horrified. “If you really didn’t want to go, I wouldn’t make you-”

“I don’t need a job like that.” Keith says firmly. “I shouldn’t have let her… or him… or anyone talk to me like that. It’s not your job to stand up for me. It’s mine. You just helped me figure it out a little sooner.”

Keith has got people who support him: Pidge and Shiro too now. And maybe later, when he’s had a little time to think of what to say, he’ll give his mom a call and tell her Merry Christmas. There’s a lot of things he should probably tell her, while he’s at it. Lots of things she probably wants to do or say. He might even let her.

“It’s just me at the shop,” Shiro suggests, still looking unnerved. “Matt and Pidge used to help me out, but- anyway, I could use a hand? Part time?”

“No thanks,” Keith says breezily, slipping his hand into Shiro’s. “I don’t like to mix business and pleasure, you know?”

“Does that mean…?” Shiro asks, squeezing Keith’s cold hand between his and looking shy.

“Say, isn’t that mistletoe?” Keith asks innocently, pointing up to the plastic decorations strung along the lanterns above their heads as they walk over to the employee parking lot where Shiro’s car awaits.

“I think it’s holly, actually,” Shiro says cluelessly.

(Keith kisses him anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> Try your luck and guess who I am! Sign up for the author guessing game [here!](%E2%80%9C)


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